Slytherin is for Lovers
by powergirll
Summary: A fic of romantic one shots set in the Slytherin Common room about our favorite guys and gals in green and silver.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

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**Slytherin is for Lovers**

**Prologue**

The Slytherin common room has been around for about one thousand years and yet nothing has really changed. The same gray and green encompassed the fireplaces, the same paintings with the same regal, haughty portraits hung from the walls, the same stone fireplace emits a dim glow. Yes, there are cob webs; yes, it's not the warmest house in the school; and yes, no one cares much.

Compared to the grandeur of Gryffindor or the homeliness of Hufflepuff or the comfortable atmosphere of Ravenclaw, Slytherin was about the worst one there. However, to those sly, cunning folks of Slytherin it was home and there was nothing wrong with being under the lake, or having the same rug for generations or that the sculptures were so tacky it was almost comical.

It's not like they couldn't do anything about it—most Slytherins came from some of the wealthiest families in Britain—no, they just chose not to. To Slytherins, it was an unwritten law that no one changed the Slytherin common room. As a Slytherin first year, one would surely wish to immediately owl their parents and complain about it but with time and a little, or not so little, nudge from the older years, it would become comfortable and anything different would be a breach in code.

Every year, the one thing that always changed about Slytherin was its inhabitants. This is a story of those "evil" kids who only have Death Eater fathers and hatred for muggleborns; of those poor misunderstood children who only need a helping hand to save them from the evils of their house; of those annoying rich brats who need to get their noses out of the clouds and get rid of those attitudes.

Whatever you think of them, these are their stories of love on their territory in their home that is Slytherin.

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_Chapter one up soon :D_


	2. The Nonconformists

Chapter 2: The Nonconformists

When entering the Slytherin common room, one would see many things. They'd see the luxurious green sofa with their silver thread lined pillows; they'd see the usual chattering girls fixing their make up and gossiping; they'd see a fight either in the making or just over with unless you were lucky in which case you'd enter right on time to see some hexes flying.

It's quite the place, the common room. Always something different going on.

However, one thing you would not see is Bellatrix Black lounging by herself on the couch in the middle of the day while everyone else was at Hogsmeade. That was unless you happen to enter the common room on this particular day.

Bellatrix was one of Slytherin's finest no doubt, full of vitality and zeal. Her reputation of being wild and untamable preceded her. With a reputation such as hers one would think she'd be ashamed as any normal girl would but Bellatrix was no normal girl. She was a Black, therefore she was far higher than any normal girl.

She took pleasure in making a scene, in making it so that all eyes were on her as she relished being in the spotlight. Whether it be wearing a blood red dress to black and white ball or threatening the lives of half the male population at Hogwarts or openly setting someone's hair on fire, she made sure the normal girls' antics would never come close to anything she ever did.

She detested that word: _normal_. To her, it was a disgusting word that deserved to be thrown into the fireplace along with her homework. Deserved to be thrown to the dogs along with he who goes by the name of Rodolphus Lestrange.

_He_ was the reason she was lying on the couch rather than carousing in Hogsmeade with her sisters. Because of him, she doubted her extraordinary self, her different, unique, far from normal individuality. Because of him, she was like all those normal girls who developed crushes and feelings of—Salazar forbid— fondness.

Those normal girls were the ones who were supposed to doodle his name in their notebooks, they were the fools who were to imagine dancing side by side with him in matching red outfits. Them. Certainly not hard as nails, cruel as can be, Bellatrix Black.

Sitting up on the couch, Bellatrix scowled to herself. _It's all his fault_, she thought bitterly. _I should just kill him and be done with it._

As though asking for an early death, right on cue, Rodolphus Lestrange entered the common room and by habit, immediately headed over to the murderous vixen with his huge reckless grin plastered on his tan face.

"Oh, Bella, Darling, I was wondering where you were," he said brightly, sitting down next to her as if he was invited to.

Now, anyone else in Rodolphus's position would have fled for the life screaming from the lethal look on Bella's face. She was positively seething at him simply for his mere presence but he seemed oblivious of it, that grin that she decided she didn't loath as much as she had originally never fading.

"When I ordered you not to call me darling or Bella or speak to me for that matter, I meant it, Lestrange," she spat, subconsciously bring her long black hair behind her ears, hoping to look presentable.

"Right, right, must have slipped my mind," he muttered, quickly changing the subject. "I've been looking for you for the past hour, you know. You could have told me you were staying here, I would have kept you company."

Bellatrix scowled. "I said not to talk to me, remember? Or is your diminutive mind just covered in grease and it slipped again?"

"Now, Bella, it's rude to change topic so abruptly," he said nonchalantly, checking his nails as if he took no notice to the hostility in Bellatrix's voice.

Scowling was something Bella did a lot around Rodolphus but like many of the negative aspects of Bellatrix, Rodolphus took no notice of it or if he did he simply didn't care. When she scowled, he smiled, when she glared, he grinned, when she threw a chair at him, he threw out words of affection. By no means did he grow tired of it however.

Bellatrix almost admired his determination. Through rumors of her promiscuousness, of her hatred to all things to that move, of her wild, attention seeking tendencies, he had never strayed faithfulness in the least bit. It was quite sad really. Bellatrix certainly did not want a man who had nothing better to do with his time than stalk her.

"Staring are we?"

Bellatrix composed herself enough so she didn't gasp aloud at her thoughts being interrupted and managed to smirk cruelly. "Why yes. Staring at how hideous that mop on your head is. Honestly, Lestrange, you're rivaling Severus in grease capacity."

It was his turn to scowl while Bellatrix maintained her smirk.

"Oh is that right, Bella_, darling_? Well… well I'd like to say that you have lovely hair!" he said confidently as if his compliment was one of the worst insults one could ever administer.

She sneered. "You're mad."

"Something like that," he said, smirking at her. "You also have beautiful eyes."

Bellatrix rolled her "beautiful eyes", getting up. "Sod off."

Bellatrix normally thrived off compliments but when it came to accepting one from the likes of Rodolphus Lestrange who rose off the couch after her, she refused to show any care at all. He was like any other man throwing out a line. One thing he forgot was that Bellatrix was no fish.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, still behind her as she crossed the common room.

"Away from here."

"Great, I'll be happy to join you."

She stopped her walking, turning around to face him with her wand to his chest. "I'm getting sick of this, Lestrange," she said with a glare. "One more move toward me and I'll curse you until your screams of agony are echoing off every single wall of the castle."

There was a pause in which Rodolphus let out a grin and Bellatrix's glare increased by a dozen notches.

"Did you know when you're angry you're all angry and seething you get this dimple on your cheek?"

There was another pause in which Rodolphus admired Bellatrix's facial features and Bellatrix put down her wand and questioned the man's sanity.

"So am I going to be screaming in agony soon?" he asked innocently. "I don't want to be late for dinner; they're severing mashed potatoes."

To this day Bellatrix denies that she ever even cracked a smile though when the third years entered the common room, they specifically reported seeing Bellatrix Black in a heap on the floor laughing so hard that they were surprised she was breathing. To this day, Rodolphus denies that he ever said anything to her though the third years also claimed that he was staring at her looking quite affronted as she laughed waiting until after she was done only to send her into another laughing frenzy by asking: "Do you not like mashed potatoes?"

Whatever happened after that was not ever verified but Bellatrix never worried about loosing her individuality again. She realized that the thing about mundane, boring, normal girls who wore white regulation dresses genuinely fell in love with those mundane, boring normal boys who wore black regulation tuxedoes.

Rodolphus Lestrange was not mundane, not boring and certainly _not_ normal. He was the dark crimson tux to her blood red dress.

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**Author's Note**: Finally, I know x) There they are, the first couple. :D More to come and hopefully some other fics with it. 


	3. The Royalty

**The Royalty**

Beyond the cold, stone walls of Slytherin exists a brutal system of politics that has been set in stone since the dawn of Hogwarts. This stone is not what one would call concrete. The system is known to all, the rules of respect, the balance of power are all unwritten aspects of regular Slytherin life. It's easy to become lost in the complex collection of routine but the experienced Slytherin follows without as much as a bat of an eyelash. More notorious than Khammurabi's code or Napoleon's code or any other rules to abide by, are the snakes own. Beyond the dungeons, within the water encompassed solitude of Slytherin, is a completely different shade of green. Sometimes red depending on how rough things become.

The Head of House, naturally, has the most power in Slytherin house. Power is key. All Slytherins, no matter how young or old, never deliberately are impertinent toward their Head of House. After the Head, though, is when the real Byzantine politics shed their light among the students. Since Salazar Slytherin himself, the students of Slytherin have had a natural leader. This leader is the one whom they look up to, the one whose example is followed, the one whose orders are carried out without thought. At least, when he's not being plotted against.

It's very easy to dispose of this leader. A simple rumor might do it, or a physical fight; there have been creative plans in the past that have destroyed a person. He has his lackeys, he has his girls, he has it all. How this leader emerges is up to the snakes themselves for though he may rule with a tyrannical fist, if he is not qualified in the eyes of his followers then he is nothing.

To begin with, popularity is a large issue, the biggest one in fact to holding power. You can have the purest background, the best Quidditch record, but if you're not at least tolerated you're nothing. Purity is the next step to the top of the Slytherin hierarchy. Even though one may not be pureblooded it is a known fact that you should at least pretend you are lest the red starts shedding from within the green.

See, they have their morals.

Some would say it's a selfish and viciousness cycle that Slytherin has yet to declare obsolete. That it's unnecessary and cruel and outdated. But it has been in such a way for the past 1000 years and it's not about to change. To them, it's an effective learning process, a lesson for how it really is beyond the safety of vault that guards the common room. It teaches the Slytherins to be the born leaders they strive to be, but unlike the soft, reckless Gryffindors, they think, they plan and they attack without mercy.

Lucius Malfoy was no exception. His plan of attack was set from the moment he learned to walk. He would decide on his goal, he would observe it, find its weakness, find how he and seize it and then go in for the kill. It's what had got him as far as he had.

That and his name of course. The name Malfoy had been feared and respected since the 13th century. Inheritably cold and calculating, blood was paramount and reputation and prestige was next on the Malfoy list of necessities. Famous as well for their Arian appearance, their blonde hair, pale skin and grey eyes radiated with the purity they encourage. They were Slytherins through and through.

It was this, his blood, his money, his power, that set Lucius Malfoy above the rest in his house. It was the way he could manipulate a teacher to give him a different a different grade with a mere raise of his perfectly arched brows, the way he could cause a girl to flush with one of his famed Malfoy smirks, the way he was able to strike fear into even the most hardened character with a raise of his wand. It was for those reasons that he was Slytherin's latest poster boy, that he was their leader, true royalty.

Like all royalty, he had his throne. The thousand year old, priceless, green, plush arm chair that was said to be Salazar Slytherin's favorite spot in the entirety of Hogwarts was this throne. Located in the head center of the Slytherin Common room, with a fireplace near it, and a long couch—the royal court if you will—adjacent to it; it was a perfect place to view the whole of Slytherin common room, from the entrance to the dormitories. It was common knowledge that this throne was off limits to everyone but Lucius Malfoy, as it had been since it was his fifth year.

Now it was in his sixth year, the year in which Lucius was finally comfortable with his position, and apparently no one else was complaining either since he had yet to face any real opposition. Usually he got into small quibbles with someone who thought they could take him but naturally these minor revolts were put down quickly. In his mind, he was the absolute monarch and no one stood against him. _Not even Parliament_, he thought bitterly as thoughts of Bellatrix, Zabini, Nott and his "friends" came to mind.

At least that's what he thought until that fateful night he entered the common room. It was quite late so there weren't many people there but those few who were there immediately began whispering and murmuring, all their eyes falling upon him as he made his way to his usual place. Naturally, being the attractive bachelor he is, he was used to receiving attention. He acted cool of course, the Malfoy composure he had been perfecting since childhood masking any confusion he felt, and walked calmly to his throne but stopped dead in his tracks, finally aware of what the commotion was.

There, in his throne, the symbol of his power, a Slytherin idol if there ever was one, sat a little blonde girl whom Lucius thought looked like a first year, calmly doing her homework with her legs crossed and face scrunched in concentration, oblivious to the looks she was receiving. It was when Lucius's own piercing, narrowed gray eyes were felt upon her did she look up briefly then go back to her work as if Lucius wasn't worth her time.

As she looked up, Lucius was able to observe her face and instantly turned to glare at Bellatrix Black, the biggest opposition he had, who was sitting with her legs crossed and that classic Black smirk plastered on her face. She was sitting on the couch near the throne chair, her humored expression the opposite of Rodolphus Lestrange, Rodrick Avery, Theodore Nott and Antonin Dolohov who each had their mouths slightly parted looking at either the girl or Lucius.

Though Lucius was now stood towering in front of her, glaring holes into her head with his arms crossed, the girl still didn't look up. Lucius willed himself not to shoot another murderous glare at Bellatrix who he could guess was beside herself with glee. Lucius never liked Bellatrix but he had been around her enough times to recognize her siblings. All the Blacks had the same perfectly sculpted features, the same perfectly smooth skin, the same haughty personalities. If Lucius could put his money anywhere he would bet Bellatrix had put the little girl—her sister, obviously—up to this.

He cleared his throat, the little girl looking up at him innocently with big blue eyes that Lucius was glad to see were completely opposite of Bellatrix's black ones. Before he could open his mouth however the girl beat him to it.

"Do you need something?" she asked in a clear confident voice, a hand on her hip. "Because if not, I would appreciate it if you could move, you're blocking my light from the fireplace."

Lucius raised a brow, his mouth parting very much in the same shocked way his friends had theirs. Through the corner of his eye he could see Bellatrix muffling her laughter in Rodolphus's shirt who was so pleased by this action, his face quickly reverted from one of shock to one of smug arrogance. Lucius ignored them.

"Excuse me," Lucius said, his voice at a higher, chiding tone, "but you're in my seat."

"Am I?" she asked with apathy, turning a page in her book.

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Now _get off_."

The little girl closed her book, raising a brow at him as if challenging him. "But I like this seat."

If Lucius was paying attention to his surroundings he would have noticed that the few students present in the common room had gathered around the couch, some with a smirk on their faces, some looking horrified. Bella was leading the smirks of the older years, looking at Lucius as if daring him to touch her sister.

"You're really making a big deal about of this, Mr. Malfoy," she said, adding a cool nod. "There are many other seats in the common room, perhaps you should go sit in one of those."

Lucius would have smacked her if he weren't brought up better than that. He would have already hexed her if she wasn't a woman, a little girl no less. He was not used to any woman showing such display of rudeness toward him besides Bellatrix. Women did not attempt to usurp the throne. It just wasn't natural but here she was, sitting upon the very emblem that represented his power.

"You have until I count to ten to remove yourself from my seat," Lucius said regaining his imperturbable demure though the threatening glare still fixed. "One."

She smirked.

"Two."

She put her books beside the chair.

"Three."

He almost thought was she going to get up.

"Four."

But she just shifted in the chair in order to make herself more comfortable.

"Five."

Lucius's glare hardened.

"Six."

Bella's smirk began to fade.

"Seven."

The common room was near silence.

"Eight."

Bella had her wand ready..

"Nine."

Rodolphus tightened his grip on Bella's waist.

"Ten."

If you ask any Slytherin who was present what happened next, you'd receive many different, many exaggerated versions of events. One might say Lucius attacked her, throwing her off his chair and across the room, completely furious. Another might say that Bella's sister had attacked him, beating him to the ground as they fought for the chair. And still, others swear they saw Lucius use an unforgivable on her. What really happened however was nowhere near as violent. It was almost comical in a way.

Lucius, as was previously stated, did not, and never will raise his hand or wand to a women. He never really planned what he did, looking back on the moment with a embarrassed scowl. As soon as the countdown terminated, he grab her by the waist to attempt to remove her from his seat by force. She wisely expected this and grabbed onto the arm of the chair tightly, letting out a small scream as he tired to pull her off.

"Oh come on!" he exclaimed as she kicked lightly, falling back onto the chair, a grin on her face. The grin was replaced by a yelp though as Lucius took advantage of her momentary inattention and picked her up again. She pushed herself off of him with a swift fwop over his head. "Salazar, ouch, that's my _head_!"

She giggled, running back over the couch but he grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him with such force that she landed on the floor with an "ooof!" and plopped himself onto the couch himself. Or so he thought he was about to before he was tripped. Without looking back, he could feel that she was the one who had tripped him and now she was proceeding to attempt to pull him back but in vain as he was much stronger than her. Lucius smirked, rising again after he wriggled his leg away from her grasp.

She grabbed onto his leg again, grinning as he fell, though this time he fell onto the cushion, stomach down. Now it was Lucius's turn to smirk as by use of the armrests he pulled himself up onto the couch to revert to a normal sitting position. But by the time he pulled himself up, he did not notice that the girl had already risen once she tripped him and ran onto the couch herself, causing them both to squish together as they struggled to push one another off through more yelps, groans and smirks.

Through this exchange, at seeing there would be no fights that included blood shed, some Slytherins had rolled their eyes and continued back to what they were doing while some of the more bold where cheering or whooping, laughing when necessary and going "oooh" as if it was the most entertaining fight they had ever seen. Bellatrix was a completely different matter. She was offended that Lucius would dare to touch a Black, her sister no less, and was wrestling with Rodolphus who wouldn't let her go lest she cause an even bigger scene.

By the time Lucius and her sister were both squished on the couch, she had successfully elbowed Rodolphus away and drew her wand, throwing a particularly violent hex in Lucius's general direction. This hex was aimed much too generally, and Lucuis's movements were too erratic to get a correct aim on him, so consequently the hex hit the wall behind the chair, causing an explosion of minor effects but still enough for chunks of the wall to fly off.

Lucius—always was a man of good reflexes—pulled Bella's sister, who had screamed as the hex flew by, under him as to shield her from the exploding granite. The fruits of Bella's fury wasn't really felt even as one of the larger rock clumps scraped against his back since all his senses were focused primarily on the little girl holding onto his neck, her face pressed into his. Her heavy breathing (probably from the exertion of their muggle dueling) was all he could hear, her clenched eyes and frightened face all he could see, her sweet honey smell, that smell of innocence he'd forgotten, the only scent he wanted to take in. His brief lapse of senses was short lived as Bella charged at him.

"Don't you EVER touch my sister again, Malfoy!" she roared. Just as she was about to lunge onto him, Rodolphus and Rodrick pulled her back, being the good lackeys they are and protecting their leader. "You let go of me NOW, Lestrange, he's mine, I'm going to rip him to pieces!"

Lucius only managed to blink as Bella was carried away screamed and cursing his name, threatening him and everything he was worth. His entire entourage had to assist Rodolphus and Rodrick, and even some of the few older years who were awake were helping as well since Bella made use of all her surroundings, the claws she called nails and nearby pottery included in her attempt to escape their grasp.

After a moments pause in which Bella's roars died down and a few of the people who were still in the common room decided they'd had enough for one night and retreated into their dorms, Lucius looked down at the girl before him. Or, underneath him rather. She stared back up at him, her bright eyes wide with what Lucius guessed was fear, as if Bellatrix's presence was the only thing that kept her confident.

"I-I'm _so_ sorry, Mr. Malfoy," she said as a dark blush rose to her pale cheeks. "She—Bella is.. I'm _so_ sorry!"

Lucius managed a smirk but that quickly morphed into a wince as he sat up. His back was throbbing, the impact of the stone dawning on him. Bella's sister's eyes went even more wide as he leaned back up against the chair. His face was certainly not contorted in any sort of apparent pain—again, Malfoys have perfected the art of masking emotion—but it was his eyes that really gave him away. She bit her lower lip, lifting herself upon the armrest of the chair so he had more room.

"Turn around so your back is facing me," she instructed, taking her wand out.

"Why?" he asked hesitantly, almost not wanting to know. If she was anything like her sister, destroying was her specialty.

"Because," she insisted, raising both eyebrows at him as if to say "duh", thoughts of young children coming back to him. That's what she reminded him of: a young child. One of those annoying brats who always thought they were right, that the adult was wrong and that world turns for them. It would have been cute if it weren't her fault that his perfect back was black and blue.

Sighing, he did as he was told. She pulled up his shirt gently, biting her lower lip. "Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she answered, tapping her wand on his bruise and muttering the incantation, which healed it almost instantly. "Siri and Reggie fight all the time and get covered in bruises too."

Lucius did no know whom Siri or Reggie were nor did he particularly care. What he did care about was the way her fingers were brushing the bare skin on his back almost affectionately and the way her other hand was lightly playing with the hairs on the back of his head.

"I like your hair," she said absentmindedly, pulling his shirt back down, both her hands now caressing the small locks at the end of his head.

"Thank you."

Lucius wasn't quite sure why he was smiling and enjoying this invasion of personal space, nor why he hadn't pushed her off his chair and claimed it as his own yet. "I'm thinking of cutting it."

"Ohh, don't," she said, hands coming out of his hair. "I think it would even better if it was longer."

"Would you like it longer?" he heard himself saying, turning around to face her and leaning against the opposite armrest, suddenly wondering why he had always sat so stiff and straight in the chair when it was possible to have comfort in any position.

She nodded. "I really would."

"Then I'll grow it out for you. Would you like that?"

"I would love that, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a smile, biting her lower lip again, nuzzling her head on the body of the chair.

"What's your name?" he asked, deciding at that if Bellatrix began biting her lip like that he'd find her much more attractive.

"Narcissa Black," she said as her finger fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. She was twisting it and pulling at it at the same time biting her lip and diverting her eyes all over the place. It seemed to him that she was trying to focus on anything but himself.

"How old are you?"

"I just turned fourteen," she answered promptly, her eyes diverting back to lock with his. Fourteen isn't so bad, Lucius decided, the thought of why he was deciding such things about her not clear just yet.

He smiled at her, the rare smiles that he allowed to reach his eyes, that charming smile that made the girls swoon and blush. She was no different, he noticed as a light blush rose to her cheeks. He took her fidgeting hands into his in what he thought was an appealing gesture but she quickly smacked his hand away.

"What are you doing?" she asked sternly her face so red Lucius couldn't help but smirk.

"What's the problem?" he asked innocently, pulling her from the armrest onto the seat next to him. Only there was very little space with him taking most of it so she was more on his lap than anything. "Why, Miss. Black, you're blushing."

"Why, Mr. Malfoy, you're hardening."

Now it was Lucius's turn to blush. He was _not _hardening—certainly not, Malfoys had control over their bodies—but he did not expect that of all things to come out of her. She seemed to have realized what had escaped her mouth for her hand shot to her lips and she bolted off his lap.

"I'm so sorry, Bella's been telling me all these horrible things to say to boys who advance on me—she says I shouldn't waste my time with any of them you see—"

Lucius couldn't help but drown her out, finding her flustered face more adorable than anything he had ever seen enter the Slytherin common room.

"—sometimes what she says actually sticks and I don't even really know what the term means, honest I don't, I'm a very good respectable pureblood girl, mother made sure of that, honest—"

He liked the way her eyes darted from side to side, left to right, top to bottom. She was looking everywhere but at him again. He decided her eyes were his favorite feature of hers, even more than her porcelain skin and her delicately carved features.

"—I didn't mean to get you hurt either, before, and oh I meant to thank you for covering me when Bella threw that hex, that was terribly kind of you, thank you—"

Her lips, her second best feature only to her eyes, were what his gaze was fixed upon. It was those lips that he was looking at. They were moving faster than he had ever heard anyone talk, ramble really. It was those lips that curtained what was inside the little girl, no the growing woman.

"—I'm sorry you got hurt for me, you really didn't have to, I'm—Mmm.."

He cut her off, crashing his lips into hers. She melted into him instantly as he wrapped his arms around her petite body. It happened again, he relapsed to his senseless state. The only thing he could hear was her calm breathing, the only thing he could see before he closed his eyes and let the kiss absorb him was her face, shocked at first than relaxed, the only thing he could feel was his hands on her hips, his lips against hers. Suddenly they became his favorite feature of hers.

It's a strange thing, politics. Slytherin politics especially. You always need to keep your senses alert, need to always be on guard in case the enemy decides to attack. Politics meant only getting close to people so you could stab them in the back or the front, (whichever was more convenient). It meant not letting what symbolizes your power get taken over. Insignias such as his chair was as important to Lucius as The House of Parliament was during the GunPower plot, as important as the raiding of Bastille during the French Revolution.

It was politics that Lucius Malfoy specialized in. But later that night, as he bid Miss. Narcissa Black goodnight he couldn't help but add, "Do you know where you're sitting tomorrow?"

She smiled shyly, the blush still lingering on her cheeks. "On your chair of course."

"Close," he said, kissing her hand. "On my lap."

She bit her lower lip, suppressing a wider smile. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, I don't think my sister would like that."

He purred into her neck, arms around her. "Why, Miss. Black, I think for the sake of getting hard again, I'd _love_ that."

He felt her flush under his touch, pushing him playfully as she pulled away. "Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy. That chair is mine tomorrow."

"We'll see about that, Miss. Black," he called after her with a smirk, his eyes following her to her room.

There was no shame in his mind as he watched her, wanted her, mentally declared her his. He was certain some of the greatest leaders of the world had looked upon their own women in such a way. Justianian and Theodora, Pompey and Julia, were no different than he was. They saw want they wanted—or in this case whom—and took them for their own. Even Nebuchadnezzar built the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon for his wife.

Glancing over at his throne as it glowed emerald in the firelight, Lucius decided that Malfoys did not offer women Hanging Gardens.

Throne chairs would have to do.

A/N: First time making Narcissa an innocent, blushing, good little girl. Not too sure how I liked it. Ah well, Luce enjoyed it. x)

Made this chapter longer on purpose. I swear, either my screen is ridiculously wide or fanfiction really needs to make the pages thinner because I tend to feel like I didn't do crap after I post this stuff, the paragraphs look so short. .o

Next chapter, the future Mr. and Mrs. Zabini.


	4. The Conquests

Chapter 3: The Conquests

For centuries, the woman in Slytherin house have been under represented by the stronger, more brutal male gender. They have been pushed around, put in their place and trained to be obedient if not by their own parents then by their fellow house mates. The last thing a man wants is a woman with a backbone. A peep does not escape their well glossed lips without a male's permission. Their only purpose in attending school is to find a pureblood male to marry, mindlessly gossip and to look pretty. Anything else, they're rendered useless.

Or something like that.

The students of Slytherin knew better than to live up to these rumors, especially the "weak" females. Dating back to the time of Salazar Slytherin's own wife whose vicious and ruthless reputation rivaled that of her own husband, the girls in silver and green hardly allowed their male counterparts to order them around. If anything, the women were more brutal than the males. Men were hardly skilled in the art of vicious gossip that could ruin a fellow student's reputation permanently if leaked. Men did not know the maneuvers that the hip required while sauntering down the hall. They did not know how to send spine tingling looks with a single smirk and perfectly planned arch of a plucked eyebrow. What they did know was how to submit to the desires and of the women without realizing it.

The trick was to simply give them the illusion that they were in charge when in reality, they were slowly being wrapped around the female's newly manicured finger.

Some women were better at this scheming manipulation than others. Bellatrix Black for example hardly even pretended to be subtle when influencing any man she wished to do her bidding. She tended to work on the whim, not bothering to plan, just to act because she was bored or angry by use of her power and ruthless determination rather than sly cunning. Bellatrix Black, contrary to popular belief, was not the only female snake to ensnare a man through her dormant venom.

Colette Travers, Slytherin's most illustrious female to ever clad the silver and green tie, was at the time only known to a few males for her merciless ambition. A very small portion of them were clever enough to figure out they were merely being used as her puppet, continuing to be entranced by the slow lick of her lips, her preplanned body language and a number of delicate movements that she had perfected.

Among this small minority of men who were immune to Collete's seductive purring and eye lash batted included Lucius Malfoy, which was the reason why Colette was glaring daggers at him from across the common room. Her dark legs were crossed, her arms were folded across her ample chest, and, being that her skirt was rolled up an impressive number of times and that the buttons of her blouse exposed a very large amount of cleavage, she wasn't leaving much for the beholder to imagine.

Naturally, that didn't stop the many eyes of the males in the room from allowing their imaginations to run wild. Lucius Malfoy, whom Witch Weekly had just dubbed the richest bachelor in the Wizarding world, was not one of those men and it made Colette furious. She had worked hard on keeping his attention, involving endless sacrifice on her part including skipping several classes to fulfill his needs in many creative locations, yet it all proved worthless since his full focus was on that little blonde brat. This said Blonde Brat did not even know how to properly use her mouth as she made apparent by actually _talking_ and not indulging in more leisure activities that Colette knew for a fact that Lucius preferred.

Scowling, she tore her dark eyes away from the disgusting scene. No matter, she decided, there were plenty more rich snakes in the snake pit.

Scrutinizing the common room carefully, she ruled out Rodolphus Lestrange as a potential puppet. Though he was rich and obviously a mindless candidate, he was already claimed by Bellatrix Black whose hold on him was as tight as her grip. Rabastan Lestrange was also ruled out since, being the youngest Lestrange, he wasn't set to inherit nearly as much as Rodolphus.

Regulus Black caught Colette's sight next but, though the Blacks were one of the oldest and most prestigious families in all of Europe, their old money wasn't as impressive as it had once was before their increasing number of bloodtraitors. Besides, he was ridiculously young. Colette would only condescend to seduce the ridiculously old as they would most likely die first.

You see, the men weren't the only snakes after power. Women, even those mindless trophy wives who did whatever their parents told them, were just as relentless as any man. They sought after their prey, or rather potential husband, with meek poise and skill. While Colette admitted, this was a_ fine_ attribute she prefered the more agressive and more knowledgable skill of seduction. She had no problem seducing power to her will since power meant wealth and to her, wealth was ultimate goal.

After mentally declining Avery, who was betrothed, Rookwood, whose second hand uniform made it obvious about his financial status, Wilkes, whose family was just recovering from a high profile scandal involving galleon laundering, Colette was beginning to plan out her hostile takeover of the Blonde Brat's position. However, before she got ready to saunter over to Lucius's lap, she noticed that Alec Zabini was nearly drooling as he was staring at her.

Colette, being highly used to this sort of attention, did not think much of it until she realized that Mr. Zabini's grandfather had just died and he was said to have inherited an impressive fortune. She smirked seductively at him, adding a small wave. He blushed, looking away quickly.

This would only be too easy.

Nabbing Lucius Malfoy had involved careful planning and scheming in order to call him a conquest. Conquest to males simply included bedding the woman but Colette's triumphs were highly more complex and involved more work than simple compliments and charm. A conquest to Colette meant complete and utter takeover of the male's free will. He wasn't a conquest until he was buying her presents for no reason, until his opinion would change with no incentive but her pout, until she was the only thing he could think about. Colette had had many of these males, each of which had been disposed of after exceeding their use. However, now Colette was nearing the end of her seventh year and was looking for a spouse of rich yet simple minded proportions. Lucius Malfoy, being what Colette had thought a desperate sixth year, was supposed to have been that man.

"Something catch your eye, Zabini, dear?" she asked innocently as she sat next to him, making sure her legs brushed against his.

He was at a loss for words. "I-I-I just s-saw something th-that, um, that I-I—nothing, i-it was n-nothing," he managed to stutter. His brown eyes were avoiding her own near black ones. She smirked. Zabini would be an easy victory.

"Nothing at all?" she asked, resting her hand on his upper thigh. "Not even.. me?"

She felt his face become warmer, his eyes following Colette's dark hands as they traveled up his leg. "Er—Y-Y-Yes.. you c-caught my eye," he admitted weakly.

She smiled, kissing his cheek and making sure her lips lingered longer than necessary. "You're sweet," she whispered huskily, her tongue grazing across his ear.

He whimpered feebly.

"Something the matter?" Colette asked, planting kisses down his jaw. He shook his head quickly, biting his quivering lip.

"You're such a gentleman, Alec" she purred, her hand traveling to rest on his belt. "I wish more blokes would be like you."

The quivering extending to his entire jaw.

Because they were in the middle of the common room, their spectacle gathered many viewers. Most of the audience who bothering to watch Colette easily seduce Zabini rolled their eyes and defamed Colette's reputation amongst themselves. Most of the defamers were indeed girls. The male audience on the most part were sniggering at Zabini's prude and not to mention pathetic behavior at having one of the prettiest girls in the school give her attention to him. Some were merely glaring, believing that that they were the ones who deserved her hands nearly down their pants.

Others though, were above giving Colette the satisfaction of knowing they were paying attention. Others like Lucius Malfoy which was exactly what Colette wanted. She always got what she wanted.

A professional at causing a scene and keeping an audience entertained, Colette straddled Alec's lap. Leaning in close to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed dramatically. "Oh, Alec," she began loudly, deciding that it was time for revenge against a certain blonde with bad taste, "You keep me so much more mentally and not to mention _physically_ stimulated than _anyone_ else."

He gulped, opening his mouth to speak but no sound escaped. He was still recovering from Colette coming over and sitting next to him.

"I've yet to have a real _man_ this year, I do hope you're nothing like those _boys_," she continued, resisting the urge to shoot a look at Lucius who was said to have been blushing furiously as the Blonde Brat whispered what sounded like "ignore her". Lucius denied all this later of course. "They have _no idea_ what they're doing _at all_. I figure this is why they turn to the only _prepubescent brats_ who'll have them."

Alec was gaping at her rather dumbstruck, oblivious to the attention Colette was getting him. Though Alec was transfixed by Colette's very being, he was perhaps the last person she was taking notice of. She did take notice of the snickers—including Bellatrix's but that stopped once the brat comment about her sister was said—from some students that she had caused. She heard the gasps and saw the gawks and met them with a silent smirk of her own. Her smirk only widened when, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Lucius Malfoy's arm being held back by the blushing Blonde Brat.

Colette almost grinned.

She didn't have too much time to take pleasure from that embarrassed and furious look on his face because Alec Zabini whom she remembered she was sitting on, suddenly found courage.

"I-_I_ could show you a real man…"

To put it lightly, Colette was _very_ taken aback. She raised a brow at him, finding herlself smirking. "Excuse me?"

"Y-You heard me.." he said quietly, for the first time in their entire conversation meeting her eyes.

She paused but she could no longer contain herself and burst into laughter. It was genuine laughter, not the preplanned, fake chuckle that she saved for those terrible jokes of rich men or the cruel, spiteful laugh that she gave her puppets before she left them.

Alec, not knowing what a true compliment it is to behold Colette Travers' true laugh, flushed brightly at being laughed at, pushed her off him and headed toward his dorm, his head down in order to hide his bright red face. Colette contained herself long enough to go after him, not even bothering to take in whatever reaction Lucius Mafoy was showing.

"Where are you going?" she asked, smiling brightly.

"To my room," he mumbled, refusing to look at her.

"Oh good, that's the perfect place to show me what a real man you are," she said with a devious smirk. He looked up hopefully and, at meeting her smirk, nearly beamed. He thought he was about to make his own conquest apparently.

Holding his arm out to her, confidence renewed, he ignored the hoots coming from the immature third years and the "Ow, ows!" from his fellow seventh years and the eye rolls from everyone else. Colette was acutely aware of all of this. Always one to keep her audience begging for more, after taking Alec's hand, she turned back around and blew a kiss at her former beau who scowled and mockingly caught it, patting it to his heart. She smirked at him.

It was then that Colette decided that Lucius Malfoy would no longer be getting any kisses to his heart. From that point on, Alec Zabini would be the only one receiving kisses from her.

As for his heart, a knife would do when the time comes.

But, while walking with him to his room, it dawned on her that she was a snake. Snakes don't play with muggle toys such as knives, oh no.

Kissing him lightly as he held the door open for her, she decided venom would be more appropriate.

---

A/N: Meh, not very happy with this chapter. Ohh well, I'm just glad I got it up. Thanks for the reviews guys! I just got one today out after all these weeks and that totally just got me doing this so every review really does help! Thanks!

Oh and I'm taking requests for the pairing of the next chapter which I swear will be so much better than this one. Slytherin/Slytherin only please. :D


	5. The Francaise

**Chapter Five: The Francaise**

The word vulgar comes from the Latin roots of vulgaris meaning "common".

Slytherins despised all forms of vulgarity. Being that most of them were from proper, pureblood upbringings, there was no need for bad manners, especially in public. Appearances were of most importance. Cussing, crude gestures, disrespect, and blatant indecent behavior was looked down upon. Or at least, they used to be.

With the new times come new bad language (Bellatrix Black was a famed offender), loss of subtly when it came to putting people down (Draco Malfoy had no such delicacy for example), the indecent behavior which included a record number of fights breaking out a year (Walden Macnair was a repeated violent enthusiast), the intoxicated state of students after quidditch match victories (Blaise Zabini was known for his inability to hold his dirnk), and of course the numerous cases where students are unable to resist the temptations of the flesh.

Morals of self respect and honor have been replaced with a different kind: morals of self interest. The best kind.

With this mind frame, being common was a forbidden form of vulgarity. Slytherin gave itself the highest approbation for their students' connections, wealth, power, prestige, and ruthless cunning. Not for being common. They wished to get places and if they had to lie to Hufflepuffs, cheat Ravenclaws and dispose of Gryffindors to do so, that was completely acceptable and in most cases encouraged.

However, not all believed that Slytherin was so very spectacular. In fact, some were appalled with the language—"Stop saying that word. Do you know what that even means? Huh?"—with the people—"What in Salazar's good name are you wearing? Take it off right now before I throw up."—and even with the state of the common room—"This place needs a change of decoration".

Evan Rosier was not pleased with vulgarity. The fact that he shared rooms with George Goyle, Walden Macnair, Rodrick Avery and Augustus Rookwood did not help matters. Goyle constantly left his dirty laundry lying around the room, sometimes even on Evan's own bed. Meanwhile, Avery was prone to knocking everything down like the klutz he was. Worst of all, Rookwood and Macnair brought women into the room nearly every night, a pathetic habit of theirs that Evan had grown tired of.

Evan's irritation at their social lives was at its peak that one Sunday night in February where he was seen grumbling French obscenities under his breath and shooting glares toward the boys dormitories as he paced up and down.

It was common knowledge that Evan Rosier was very much attached to his French roots. The French connection was a considerable asset to Slytherin since not only were many of the paintings that hung on the wall from French society through the ages but Frace was known for it's large population of pureblood wizards, far exceeding England in quantity.

"And quality," thought Evan bitterly, running a hand through his normally tidy, thick, brown hair. Currently it looked like a short brown mop fixed upon a handsome young man's head.

Evan had no time to add his favorite smoothing gel or volumizer or put even run a comb through it. He couldn't add his favorite body lotion either as he spent all day in the library working on his thesis report for Arithmancy. This report was located in his room to which the door was locked because Rookwood had insisted that he entertain Bellatrix Black, most likely forgetting that Bella was Evan's cousin. Obviously the last thing Evan wanted to know was that his roommate was shagging his cousin. That was the factor that caused him to become pushed out of his room before grabbing his report that just needed a concluding paragraph.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately in this case, Evan had no trace of the infamous Black temper in him since he was all Rosier so he did not blow the door down and demand his essay as he was sure Bellatrix would have done. Then again, Bellatrix had been latched onto Rookwood's arm laughing when Rookwood shoved him away so he wouldn't really know how she would have acted in his position.

Instead of blowing off a chunk in the wall like Bellatrix had done not even a month ago, Evan plopped down miserably onto a sofa and kicked the nearby end table repeatedly. However, he cuffed his designer, imported shoes from Italy and quickly regretted that.

"Will you stop that?" asked a familiar, smooth voice. Evans stopped immediately.

There, peering at him from his usual place on his throne chair, his hair in its natural, golden sheen, and his skin flawless, was Lucius Malfoy. He was in shoes that Evan recognized was of his favorite designer. From what Evans heard, Lucius was the only other male whose portion of his room was always clean. And he showered every single day. And his family was friends with designers like Vera Chang, Lucinda Hawkins, and Giovani Montefusco.

As far as Evan was concerned, Lucius Malfoy was the only male in the entire school who lacked the vulgarity of the English schoolboys.

"Thank you," Lucius said when Evan stopped, his attention falling back to the pretty blonde girl in front of him. Evans had not noticed it before but he seemed to be the only male who did not.

The first recorded time a Veela had stepped into Slytherin was on Salazar Slytherin himself's permission. Even Meryn the Malicious, a young Slytherin of fifteen at the time, was said to have literally been doing back flips to please the maiden (he denied this until his death). After the Veela had successfully ensnared all the males and was on the verge of seducing them entirely, that first time a Veela entered Slytherin became the last. Veelas were no longer allowed in Hogwarts, the decision unanimously supported by all the school governors. Apparently, Veela were especially powerful over inexperienced, testosterone driven teenagers.

This woman, however soft her silvery hair looked, however slim her figure was, however flirtatious her smiles were, was not a Veela; Evans was sure of this as Veela were his new favorite magical creatures ever since the Veela fashion editorial in _Craze_ magazine. He guessed this woman was half Veela instead.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur, eez there something wrong?"

The Half-Veela was addressing him. He almost allowed himself to grin, mainly at her thick accent. Finally, someone other than his family members he could socialize with on an intellectual level. Someone with class and flair, someone with spark and formality. Someone _French_.

"No, rien est erroné, ((No, there is nothing wrong))", he replied. He noticed her beam significantly. Lucius Malfoy (and the other swooning men in the background, all who weren't as well put together as Lucius Malfoy so did not matter) was the last thing on her mind though before she was bathing in his drool.

"Parlez-vous français? ((Do you speak French?))" she asked brightly, giving him a gorgeous smile and rising from her seat. Evan rolled his eyes as Lucius Malfoy sighed dreamily, leaning forward with his eyes having trouble opening all the way.

"Oui, ((Yes))" he said grouchily, disgusted with Lucius Malfoy's normally upstanding behavior. Veela or not, if Evan could have some self control, he was sure Lucius Malfoy could pull it off too. They were both equally men after all.

"Joelle Passer," she introduced herself, holding her manicured hand out for Evan to shake. The smile was still on her lips as she stood in front of him.

"Evan Rosier," he said, shaking her hand delicately. He recognized Passer. Her mother was most definitely a Veela as the woman had attended several parties in his family's manor in France, notoriously seducing the French Prime Minister in one instance.

"Rosier?" she asked, perking up. "_J'adore_ your family villa in Southern France. I 'ave went to visit with Mamma last winter. In France, you very, how you say… rich, yes?"

Evan nodded hesitantly. He had never been looked at like she was looking at him. There was something… _vulgar_ in her eyes. Strangely, he did not mind.

"We must 'ave lunch, yes?"

He nodded again, this time obediently. "Yes.. lunch."

"I'll join you two! I'm very rich too, you know."

Lucius Malfoy popped up beside Joelle. A chorus of "Me too!" and "I'll come!" and "Yes, I'm rich!" and even "I _invented_ money!" followed. Joelle giggled.

"Boys, please, allow Mousier Rosier and I to speak of home in France, yes?"

The swarm of boys nodded robotically. Rosier glared at Lucius who was continuing to disappoint with his mechanical head shaking. The glare intensified when Joelle kissed Lucius's cheek and promised him that he would see her later. Evan found it very juvenile how males grinned so stupidly when they got their way. Joelle meanwhile did not mind.

"I changed my mind," Evan mumbled, starting away from the dispersing crowd and Joelle's pout. "I'm not hungry."

"But 'zen we talk, yes?"

"No."

She squeaked in displeasure, latching onto his arm, stopping his leave. "Vat is wrong with you? Do you not like me?"

"I don't know you and I doubt any of these other men know you either," he said scowling and wrenching his arm away from her grasp. He noticed a diamond ring on her finger and gawked. "Is that a Ramsley design?" he asked in awe, taking her hand.

She smirked and nodded. "Delacours spare no expensive when it comes to future family members."

"It's_ gorgeous_."

"Oui, you 'ave good taste," she remarked, looking around the room distastefully. "I 'ave no like for England."

"Neither do I!" Evan said with a grin. "It's so barbaric."

"Exactly, so very unrefined," she said, nodding. Her hand remained in his.

"So vulgar," Evan said. He watched for signs of agreement and quickly received it. Her profuse nodding said it all.

"Oui! Being 'ere is too much for me. It 'as been nearly two months now in dis school. I do not know why Delacours insist on education, especially in dis place. They are friends with Dumbleydore, I believe."

Evan gave her a sympathetic look as her arms somehow found their way behind the back of his neck. "That's, uh, tragic."

She sighed, playing with the dark short curls on the back of his neck. "Eet ees. I need, how you say… comfort."

Ask any man in the Slytherin Common room what they would have done in that instance and you would receive practically the same answer from all of them, much to their girlfriends' dislike. Soon after this event, Rodolphus Lestrange admitted what he'd have said in respond to her plea for "comfort", not knowing that Bellatrix Black was right behind him. Needless to say, he owled his teachers the next day to say that he was sick and refused to leave from under his covers. He denies claims of Bellatrix nearly clawing his eyes out and pulling large chucks of his hair from his head. Bellatrix refused to comment but did have a very smug face on for the rest of the week.

Evan was too wrapped up in Joelle's arms to take notice of anyone glaring at him or of the envious looks he was receiving.

"Joelle.. I'd really rather not..."

Evan had never been slapped by a women. Normally women adored Evan and constantly hung around him asking for advice about their clothes or make up or taking him with them as they shopped. Joelle obviously did not know this since there was a large red hand print on his cheek that no amount of MAC (Magically Advanced Cosmetics) concealer could possibly hide.

"What was that for?!" he shouted, rubbing his cheek.

"For being a idiot!" she shouted back, scowling. "Vat ees wrong with you? Do you not like me? Am I ugly? Hm? You are zee—"

Joelle went off on a tangent, spewing French curses left and right. She suddenly lost her appeal, not just to Evan but to the staring boys who blinked in confusion and went back to what they were doing before the half Vella entered the room.

"Joelle," Evan started, shaking his head. She was embarrassing him. "Joelle, calm down."

She did not calm down. In fact, far from calming down, she began to throw books and quills and ink bottles at Evan who was screaming almost as loud as the scared first years.

"Should we interfere?" asked a bewildered Rabastan Lestrange to Rodrick Avery. An ink bottle flew past Rodrick's ear.

"No way, mate, I'm out of here."

"Don't leave me!" Evan called but to no avail since the common room was emptying out. No one seemed to care very much about things being thrown, so long as it wasn't their thing. Evan hid behind a couch, third years laughing as they ran past him. _This is ridiculous_, he thought.

He came up from behind the couch, running at her. His best attempts at remaining composed despite her murderous fury prevailed since without hesitation he pinned her to the couch, ignoring her kicks and French screams.

"Joelle! Joelle, listen to me!"

"Why do you not like me?!" she roared from under him. He could have sworn he heard her snarl.

"Joelle, listen! I do like you—"

"Merde! You do not find me preet-ty! Mamma is a Veela, vat is wrong with you?! All of your little friends 'ave—"

"Joelle!" Evan interrupted, giving her shoulders a shake. "You're gorgeous! You have the nicest skin I've ever seen and pretty hair—no spilt ends, impressive!—and I love your make up, it looks like it's professionally done, and where did you get your shoes? They're adorable on you—"

Evan was about to compliment her manicure next but found that his lips had crashed into hers. Her arms went back around his neck, the hand—the one with the wedding band no less—found its way into his hair and her legs were wrapped around his waist.

It was nothing short of _vulgar_.

Yet, nearly two years later, while the Dark Lord is at his peak and Hogwarts remains the safest place in the United Kingdom, a disheveled picture of an Evans Rosier escorting an equally disheveled looking Mrs. Delacour out of a large villa in Southern France is plastered on _The Daily Prophet_ Society pages. The article will report the curiosity surrounding the situation, especially considering that Mr. Delacour is on a business trip in Germany. Throughout the years, pictures of all the Delacours, including their newest addition by the name of Fleur, are taken. Nearly half of them include the family being led into a stylish boutiques by Evan Rosier who is almost always holding nearly four bags of his own.

If Evan knew that while he and Joelle remained on the couch for the rest of the night snogging endlessly (and later retreating into Evan's own room for even more vulgar misadventures), it would be the start of a countless number of vulgar actions, he may have cringed. Or, considering the next article of clothing Joelle was taking off, he would have beamed brighter than Rowena's Secret's New Citrus Scented Body Shimmer Lotion.

And to think, Mr. Rosier was worried about his son's sexual orientation.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

(A/N: I put the translations in the parenthesis to the french and Merde means shit.

There you go. Not too happy with this (as usual-- the L/N chapter will always be my fav) but Evan is fun. He's metro, okay? xD I was going to make him full on gay but nahh, he'll just be bi but not really know it. Homosexuality was looked down upon in the 70s anyway, probably even more so amoung purebloods. Props to PeevesthePoltergeist! She got me to do Mr. Rosier.

Next chapter: Probably Millicent/Goyle or Pansy/Draco. P/D is my fav ship other than Lucius/Narcissa.

Thanks for the reviews guys!)


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